


When All Seemed Dark, You Were My Light (Title may change)

by BismuthAndFullOfGold (AzuleOpal)



Category: Lost & Found Music Studios (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea how this is gonna go, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzuleOpal/pseuds/BismuthAndFullOfGold
Summary: Based off the scene where John and his dad fight and then Luke invites John to his house instead of sleeping in the Mutt CrackerTRIGGER WARNING: ABUSIVE LANGUAGE(Hopefully I will be able to stop hurting John. I love him.)





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I was salty about the lack of Juke in the world, both canon and in fic, so boom.
> 
> The fandom is so small on AO3 goddamit

“You never do anything in this house, you just use up all my money for water or to fund your stupid music! You’re never gonna get anywhere with it anyways!”

“At least I have a future! You’re just going to end up in this tiny little house, all alone and drowning in debt! So don’t you dare disrespect my music!” I reply, angrily circling the couch, opposite my father. 

He scoffs. “Knowing a few frilly notes on a guitar won’t keep you afloat. We’ll see who’s in debt then. Do yourself a favour, kid, and get a real job, like a man. Stop singing love songs like some sissy teenage girl.”

That hurt. Music means everything in the world to me. It was there when my father wasn’t, after my mother killed herself and he retreated from my life, turning to alcohol, gambling and who knows what else. Most nights, he isn’t even home when I get back from Lost And Found. 

Well, if he doesn’t want to share a house with me, he doesn’t need to.

“You know what?” I say, turning towards my room, “I’m better off without you.”

“Oh really. Where are you gonna go, huh? You have nobody who will take you in. Except maybe that pretty-boy you always seem to have around when you’re too scared to face me yourself.” He taunts after me.

I try to tune him out as I gather things into a backpack. Clothes, some spare change, my music, a few toiletries, my phone, my wallet, which I had filled with identification papers beforehand and my guitar, which had been a gift from my mother.

When I come back out of my room, I see him glaring at me with eyes full of pure hatred, as though waiting to pounce, waiting to kill.

“Get out of here.” He growls, quiet. It’s almost worse than the yelling. “I don’t want you in my house, you parasite.”

I feel as though all the air had just been knocked out of my lungs. I had been planning to leave anyways, but knowing he wasn’t going to fight me or at least change my mind hurt more than anything and try not to let my blurry vision spill into tears.

“Go ahead, cry. You never were the son I wanted. I bet you’re the reason She killed herself.” He sneers.

I can’t stop the sharp gasp that pulls itself from my throat and the tears from my eyes. He must be right. I wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

It’s my fault she’s gone.

I shake my head and make my way to the front door. Before I step out of this house forever, I look the man I had called a father straight in the eye. I don’t care that their bloodshot and puffy, or that my lower lip trembles when I whisper in a shaky voice:

“Don’t come looking for me, Thomas.”

The door slams shut behind me, locking him out of my life, hopefully forever.


	2. You Are A Gift, Son

My head reels from the events of the past half an hour. I just lost everything. My home, my father, most of my money. I have nothing left.

Nothing but Luke.

I wipe a tear from my cheek and take a deep, shaky breath. I start walking down the road, my path illuminated solely by streetlights and first stars of the night. As I walk, I come across an old man, bundled up in scruffy rags. When he sees me, he holds out a bowl with bare and weathered hands. My heart goes out to him. He, too, has lost truly everything. After a moment’s hesitation, I drop a pair of woolen gloves into the bowl and offer him a weak smile. He returns a toothy, or rather toothless, grin.

“Stay safe.” I murmur.

“You too, son. Bless you for this gift. You are a gift, son.” He replies in a crackly voice. 

My throat closes at his words and I offer him a silent nod. I continue walking, shoulders hunched as I try to hold back sobs that sit in my throat like heavy stones. I turn his words over and over in my head.

He had called me a gift. I try to remember the last time I had been called anything but parasitic by the man who was supposed to love me the most in the world.

My brain comes up empty.

I hurry my steps, pulling my hat further down my ears, hoping to lock out the cold, lock out the desperation, lock out my own thoughts. The hat can only lock out so much, though.

I let my feet guide me to the house of the only person I know wouldn’t shun me or turn me away. Luke. My breath begins to fog in front of me, turns golden in the streetlamps’ light.

_ “You are a gift, son.” _

I shake my head. That can’t be right though, can it? Not when I wasn’t fast enough to keep Mom from killing herself. Not when I’m the reason Thomas turned away from me and towards things that made him happy, things that were easy to deal with, things that let him forget that I was waiting for him at home, scared and alone. Not when I’m reminded day after day that I’m nothing but a burden, will never be a source of pride, a reciever of love.

I feel tears prickle uncomfortably in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back, not to let them spill. They turn my surroundings into vague shapes and circles of uneven light that seem to shiver when I blink.

I look up, narrowly avoiding a tree. A tree with my own initials carved into them, right along with Luke’s.

I gasp with relief and stumble up the driveway, tripping towards the door. I knock over a blue recycling bin, turned nearly black in the dark and I yelp, a perfect F#. I don’t swear with words. Like everything else I verbally convey, I use music. 

I go to knock on the door, but before my knuckles even touch the weathered wood, it swings backwards, revealing a sleepy-eyed, messy haired Luke.

I stumble forwards, straight into his arms, knocking us both into the house. I feel Luke grunt under my weight, but I take no notice. I break, all the tears pouring out, tears from who knows how long, years probably. I grip onto him harder as my sobs gain force.

I feel him drag me to the carpet, feel the softness under my shoes. He sits down, arms still wrapped tight around me and I sob even harder.

What have I done to deserve him? I’m probably just burdening him right now, he should be asleep. He’s a the true gift, the one who deserves better than waking up at ass o’clock at night to comfort a boy his own age who had ruined his own life. He deserves concerts full of sell-outs, a good sleep-schedule and emotionally stable friends.

I curl in on myself and feel him pull me into his lap. His hands rub comfortingly up and down my back and his voice rumbles comfortingly through me, saying something I can’t make out, in soft tones. He rocks us back and forth on that floor and I can only imagine his discomfort. Sitting on a carpet, no backrest, crushed by my weight, turning his slender legs to numb jelly and I feel guilty, but not enough to move yet.

“Hey, John, my home bass boy. Talk to me, man.” He says softly.

I suck in my breath, trying to steady my hiccuping. Luke waits patiently for me to calm down and my heart swells with gratitude.

“My da- Thomas.” I whimper. “ He disowned me. Big fight. Can’t go back. Ever.”

Luke seems to understand, pulling me in closer, resting his head on mine. I feel his head shift and give a tiny jolt when I feel his lips and nose on my hair, hat fallen somewhere behind me. I feel an unfamiliar warmth that has nothing to do with the hot tears on my face or the proximity of Luke’s body to mine.

“You know you’re always welcome here, right, John? You’re the closest friend I’ve got” Luke murmurs, muffled by my hair.

_ “You are a gift, son.” _

I nod slightly and move impossibly closer to Luke’s warm chest. He feels like safety and home. Like good memories and smiles and music and love.

Love. A rare thing in my life. The last time I felt loved was when I sat this way in my mother’s lap as a young child. Loved and protected.

I welcome this newfound warmth, let it cloud my brain and lull me to sleep, right along with Luke’s gentle rocking, his gentle hummed lullaby.

I fall asleep in his arms, almost happy.

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are super encouraged! Tell me what you think! I take constructive criticism, so don't be shy!
> 
> I hope I did okay with the fight scene and John's internal monologue. This is really inconsistent, damn.  
> I have no experience with this type of scene, I'm usually alot fluffier!!!


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